


happy endings

by schlimmbesserung



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:12:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlimmbesserung/pseuds/schlimmbesserung
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the scratch was put into place as a last resort reset button. it flips back the universe, changes it up in hopes of a more favorable outcome, and erases all memory of the previous session. that being said; John, Rose, Dave, Jade-- what if this isn't their first session?</p><p>there are many ways that their story can end. </p>
            </blockquote>





	happy endings

**Author's Note:**

> the format and concept is ripped shamelessly from margaret atwood's short story [happy endings](http://users.ipfw.edu/ruflethe/endings.htm)
> 
> inspired by [this](http://sventastically.tumblr.com/post/18116095420) horrible wonderful tumblr post
> 
> highlight {the moustache bracketed} text to read it

-  
  
  
  
On the day of April 13th, 2009 (coincidentally John Egbert’s long awaited 13th birthday) the beta version of a game called sburb falls into the capable hands of four young teenagers. After a series of utterly ridiculous shenanigans (involving, among other things, a clever disguise, a rather haunting piano refrain, a dash of good natured filial strife, a tome of pranks, a sacred urn containing the ashes of a beloved nanna, and a perturbing harlequin doll) John manages to get the game up and running.  
  
Walls are built and floors are broken. Various items of furniture end up in peculiar and inconvenient places. Dads are baffled. Mysterious alchemic technologies are tampered with. There’s a flash of blue and the clock starts ticking. After that--  
  
For a happy ending, try **A.**  
  
  
  
  
 **A.  
  
** They're blocked in by towers of twisted black steel, lost in a labyrinthine networks of gears and pulleys, vaguely distorted by simmering waves of heat rolling up from the bubbling lava. Dave's face feels so dried out. He licks his lips.  
  
It’s the first time they’ve all actually met in person, together, in one place. He suppresses the urge to preen over the fact that such a milestone moment is taking place in his world.  It’s just too bad that this is the last time they’re all going to be together, too.  Well, in this version of the universe, at least. See, they’re standing at the edge of this really  _boss_  thing called the Beat Mesa, which is essentially just a giant record that somehow has intimate connections to the space time continuum-- Dave doesn’t really get that, but okay-- and this here is end game.   
  
“So, what?” Dave begins rather blandly, leaning on his sword and looking at each of his friends in turn. “We shred this vinyl then cease to exist?”  
  
“Don’t say it like that!” Jade chides him with a huff, furrowed brow over incandescent green eyes.  
  
“That appears to be the writing on the wall,” Rose replies. It’s a whole hell of a lot easier to tell when she’s being playful now that he can see the smirk tugging at her charcoal lips. The snark that she lives and breathes just doesn't translate as well in text.  
  
“Quite literally, as it was etched in stone at the depths of an ancient ruin. Although, I’d prefer to think of it as a sort of—” she pauses, violet gaze flicking back and forth as if searching for the most fitting word. “— _rebirth_. The universe will be parallel, identical in multiple ways, but with the potential for a more desirable outcome than the one we currently face. Which (I’m sure there’s no need to reiterate, but I will regardless) is doom.”

“That makes so much more sense,” he responds flatly. Hell, you’d be snippy too if you were scared senseless. After all, they _are_  about to be wiped from the plane of existence. Some other Dave in some other universe not even created yet is scoring a second chance ( _lucky bastard_ ), not him. It doesn't matter how you spin it. Whatever comes after this scratch, they aren't gonna be around to see it. “You’ve enlightened me, Lalonde. I can see clearly now the rain is gone.”  
  
Jade gives his arm a lazy slap and adds buoyantly, “Come  _on,_ Dave. This is our chance to start over and fix everything we messed up! It’s a good opportunity! Stop being such a Debbie Downer.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” he says, raising a hand in surrender. “But can John at least take off those ridiculous pajamas? Because I want to go out in a blaze of glory, and that just isn’t happening with him dressed like that.”  
  
“Hey!” John pipes in protest. “My breezy pajamas are awesome! You’re just jealous.”  
  
“Because I definitely want to take a sword to the torso so I can prance around in my nighties and do the windy thing. Yeah, someone throw me a lifeline, I’m drowning in a sea of vomit green envy.”  
  
The other boy promptly flips him the bird and proceeds to float around in lethargic circles and barrel rolls.  
  
“We’ve been dragging this out for long enough,” Rose cuts in and Dave’s chest tightens. She holds up her ivory needle-wands (or whatever they’re supposed to be), all prim and proper. Dave's gotta give her mad props for that. He almost didn't even notice her fingers shaking. “As they say, let’s get this show on the road. Shall I do the honors?”  
  
“Knock yourself out," John says.  
  
"I'm ready," Jade agrees.  
  
Dave’s heart flutters behind his ribcage like a trapped bird. He knows enough about timeline shenanigans to understand that this is  _it_  for them.  There’s still so much he hasn’t done yet. He wants to stay just a little longer, talk to his friends and figure some things out. Get a little peace of mind before it all goes down. He casts a futile side glance in Jade’s direction.  
  
He’s a Knight of Time whose time has run out.

"Do your thing, Lalonde."  
  
This is the end of the story.  
  
  
{Scratch.} **  
  
  
  
  
B.  
  
** Dave makes it to LOFAF only to find the snow painted a deep ruby red.  
  
His gut lurches and he sits down right there, like all the strength just got sucked out of him. Drops straight to his ass with a frosty crunch and ignores the wetness that seeps through his shoes and his pants. There's Jade, lain out with her limbs all awry, like a doll tossed carelessly aside. Her hair and her gown are swirled across the snow, flecks of white and green and blood red painting a galaxy on the black backdrop.   
  
And this is the alpha timeline. Isn't it? Or is he just an offshoot Dave in a doomed split? He's often wondered if he would ever know the difference. Revulsion turns slowly in his stomach. For an agonizing second he feels bile rise in his throat and he thinks he might actually be sick, but it passes.  
  
turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]  
  
TG: jade is dead  
TG: our shit is wrecked  
  
The minutes stretch endlessly as he waits for a reply. His nose starts to go numb, then his feet, then fingers. He assumes the worst.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says. He stares at his hands. He can never seem to dish out just the perfect rhythm, can never grasp and hold on, can never react fast enough to salvage what he cares about most. He thinks about all the things that he never got to say to Jade, to Rose, to John, to his bro-- and they're all gone now, he can _feel_ it. A hollow, abyssmal ache where his heart used to be.  
  
But if it’s even remotely possible for him to sum it all up in a few words, he’s sure this is pretty much how it would go; “I’m not as cool as you thought.”  
  
This is the end of the story.  
  
{ Scratch.}

 **  
  
  
  
C.  
  
** Jade is gorgeous in a ( _messy_ ) offbeat kind of way.  
  
The realization hits Dave with all the force of a freight train as he kneels in the crevice of a gargantuan tree, vines tangled at his feet. He can’t say he’s never entertained thoughts of him and her, like, _together_ , but that was all just speculative crap that he mostly dismissed under the impression that they’d never meet. However, now that he’s within fifteen feet of her, his heart is thumping an insistent bassline beneath his ribs.  
  
He watches as she chases down a speckled frog, arms outstretched and muttering under her breath. Her hair streams behind her like a comet tail and her glasses keep slipping down the bridge of her nose. She still has that outrageous squiddle jacket on, too, clashing sharply with her bright blue eclectica dress in one of the most offensive fashion statements in the history of time.  
  
“Hey, Daaaaave! You think you can get off your lazy butt and help me out?” She accentuates the sentence with a goofy, beaming smile and he's resolved that it's what sunshine would look like if it were condensed into human form.  
  
“Right away, your majesty,” he heaves himself to his feet, brushing bits of frost from his pants and trying to think of a way he can blunder after a bunch of hop happy amphibians without looking like a total idiot. “You know me, I’m just here to serve you. Anything you want done, I’m on it. Got a toilet that needs plumbing, just whistle. A body that needs disposing, call me up. Or maybe you really fucked up? Gotta hit the rewind, come busting in like a _deus ex machina_ to right all your wrongs. No prob. That's kinda my forte.”  
  
“You’re so over the top.” She rolls her eyes affectionately, then points to a tiny critter with bicolored spots, “Bring me that one.”  
  
It’s easier than Dave anticipated because, thankfully, the little guy doesn’t put up much of the fight. The hardest part is trying not to step on any of the other frogs, which he manages to succeed only thanks to Jade’s distressed squeals whenever he comes close to landing a foot full of frog juice.  
  
“So, Jade,” he starts as he’s picking his way back over to her. He doesn’t finish, though, because he’s not quite sure how to say ‘have you ever thought about maybe you and me kind of being an item’ in a manner that doesn’t portray him as a complete tool. This probably isn’t really the best time anyway, when they’re all busy saving the galaxy and shit. Not to mention, it kind of feels like his tongue spontaneously decided it wants to roll up and see how far down his esophagus it can get.  
  
“What?” she prompts curiously, blinking in an innocent way that sort of just turns Dave’s insides to goop.  
  
He hesitates for a fraction of a second, “How does it feel to be the supreme pimp of all frogs, forcing nonconsensual procreation with wild abandon?”  
  
She snorts a laugh, uncouth ( _perfect_ ), and reaches to accept Dave’s frog, “They’re not even actually mating, we just need their slime.”  
  
Their fingers brush in the exchange and it doesn’t mean anything.  
  
Everything continues as in **A.  
  
  
  
  
D.**  
  
Once they enter the game, Dave and John don’t really talk all that much. Dave gets that they’re both neck deep in so much shit right now, but it feels like he’s constantly chatting it up with Jade and Lalonde, while his pesterlogs with his supposed tightest bro are few and far between, never containing much substance. Not that they really contained much substance in the first place. Actually, all things considered, they probably contain substance to the tenth power now, what with the situational reports and mutual sharings of discoveries and the like. And that's all fine and good, but, you know, at least they had fun before. Looking back on their in-game conversations, as he’s perched high on a tower in LOHAC and deep in thought, it’s all clipped and obligatory. The next time they talk, Dave considers mentioning his concerns. He ends up weaving a few superficial jokes and logging off less than two minutes later.  
  
The deeper they get into the session, the further they seem to drift apart. John goes off and does his own thing, wields the hammer and becomes the friendleader and Dave mostly just doesn’t know what’s really going on with him half the time.  The moron even gets himself killed, but then somehow manages to ascend to this higher level or something? He just doesn’t even get that at all.  
  
He looks on as John soars through Skaia, and he can’t quiet the deep, ugly envy buzzing in his head. John is so great without even trying. John is a leader. John is a hero. John used to be his best friend  
  
Everything continues as in **A.  
  
  
  
  
E.**  
  
They never see or hear from their guardians again. Hours pass, _days_ even, and Dave is looping through so many fucking timelines, but he can’t even find the smallest hint of his bro. Dude was always pretty damn stealthy, but Dave doesn’t run into the other’s guardians at all, either, and that's what really raises suspicion. They’re nowhere in LOHAC or the other lands, nowhere on Derse, and Prospit’s gone. There’s a chance that they’re bunched somewhere on Skaia, but the chance is a little too slim for Dave to be comfortable.  
  
EB: they’ll turn up somewhere  
EB: they were all in or near our houses when we entered the game, right?  
EB: so they must have gotten teleported too!  
TG: probably  
TG: itd take more than a few lame meteors to wipe out my bro anyway  
TG: hes like fucking unstoppable or something  
TG: jam a blade through the guys gut and i bet hed still keep coming at you flashstepping and throwing technicolor smuppets  
TG: like some badass in a five hundred episode long anime series or some shit  
TG: just when you think its over and hes done for he pulls an unprecedented next level transformation out of the crack of his ass  
TG: a la super saiyan  
EB: who?  
TG: its not a person its a thing egbert get with the program  
TG: you know like from dragonball  
TG: the anime  
TG: super saiyan is supposed to be the baddest of the bad final level type thing  
TG: but then it turns out theres like five levels of super saiyan after the regular super saiyan  
EB: i don't know anything about your japanese animes dave. dragonball sounds like some weird, back alley porno!  
TG: whatever the point is  
TG: if one of these imps thinks they can take my bro theyre just gonna end up with a metric ton of coarse puppet dick grinding all against their face  
EB: yeah. your bro is basically a fucking weirdo.  
EB: i don’t know how good my dad is at fighting, but i’m sure he’s fine!  
  
Rose responds to his concerns (except coolkids don’t get concerned. They keep their cool in all of the circumstances. All of them.) in a similarly unsatisfactory manner.  
  
TT: Right now, it's been made clear that all we can do is push on until we beat the game.  
TT: I know that it's hard.  
TT: As I understand it, your brother was a scarce yet extremely influential factor in your life.  
TT: If you have any unspoken emotions towards him, maybe it would help for you to talk about them.  
TT: As always, I am willing to lend an ear and suffer whatever disturbing, metaphor heavy, homoerotic-innuendo riddled rhyme you might conjure to express these emotions.  
TT: After all, what else are friends for?  
TG: what no  
TG: shit no  
  
Dave hangs up the phone on that subject as fast as if it were a clingy girlfriend-- changes his number and blocks her caller id.  
  
TG: i dont have any unspoken emotions for my bro what is that even  
TG: me and him were level we had a complex and ironic understanding going on  
TG: maybe you should take your psychoanalytical shit and turn it back on your own passive aggressive relationship with your alcoholic mom  
TG: got any unspoken emotions there  
  
He shouldn’t have said it. He’s been slipping lately, nerves all in a jumble. It’s out of character for a guy who’s supposed to be the king of not giving of fuck. If he stops joking and shrugging things off with an apathetic roll of his shoulders, then people will know that he takes something seriously. If he takes something seriously, then he has a vulnerability, and vulnerabilities put him in line of destruction.  
  
She doesn’t reply for a solid couple of minutes, but when she finally does it’s curt and cold.  
  
TT: Point well made, Strider.  
  
tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]  
  
He feels like shit.  
  
Then Rose leaves to battle her denizen and never comes back and he never stops feeling like shit.  
  
He doesn’t mention it to Jade. She seems to have enough on her mind lately. She’s been acting jumpy since the incident with Prospit; says she feels blind with no clouds to direct her where to go. They were at a disadvantage from the start when they lost both their Prospitian dreamers, and now that they’re down a seer as well, things are beginning to look pretty grimdark.  
  
TG: calm your tits harley   
GG: im sorry, dave :(  
  
She punctuates the apology with an emoticon that tugs at his heart more than any textually represented face should ever have the power to do.  
  
GG: its just . . .  
GG: nothing is going the way it’s supposed to  
GG: this isn’t what i saw in my dreams!  
TG: look jade  
TG: ive got this all under control okay  
TG: built a railroad under control and now im using it to smuggle all you losers out of loserville  
TG: listen close i'm about to tell you how this is gonna go down  
TG: were gonna breed your weird frog thing and then were gonna go give that bogus black king the beatdown of his life  
TG: hell be on his knees crying uncle but we wont stop  
TG: well be like no man its too late for that shit you done goofed  
TG: then well take home a shiny trophy with all our names on it  
TG: the masses will be heralding our homecoming with a choir and fucking trumpets  
TG: well all be hugging and getting snot and tears all over each others shirts  
TG: just like in egberts crappy movies  
GG: but . . .  
GG: rose is gone, dave

Something clenches in Dave’s chest, coils so tight that he can’t seem to drag a breath in. It hurts, like someone is trying to pull his lungs up and out through his throat with fish hooks. He flounders for a moment, struggles for oxygen, fingertips poised ( _trembling_ ) on the keys of his laptop. He’s got to keep his cool. As much as he wants to do an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle right now, he’s got to bring it back in. His bro taught him better than this.  
  
TG: but we cant just roll over like a dog begging for a belly rub and give up  
TG: (ignoring your affinity for that kind of thing for the sake of the metaphore)  
TG: rose wouldnt want that  
TG: we have to keep fighting to the end and find a way to get everything back to the way it was before  
TG: everythings gonna end up ok alright  
TG: earth to jade im trying to have a heart to heart here don’t just leave a bro hanging  
TG: not cool  
TG: hey pls respond  
TG: ok seriously whats going on over there  
GG: dave  
TG: what god harley dont just drop off the radar with no warning like that  
GG: youre really the coolest guy i know  
TG: what can i say  
TG: being the coolest guy you know is basically a strider birthright  
GG: haha yeah!  
GG: but seriously dave youre being so brave right now. i'm really proud of you!  
GG: and  
GG: im glad youre still here  
GG: dave?  
TG: yeah  
TG: ill see you at lofaf okay  
TG: ill be there soon  
GG: dave

turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering gardenGnostic [GG]  
  
He slams his laptop shut and it goes skittering across the floor.  
  
The thing is, Dave _isn’t_ brave. He honestly doesn’t know how he got here, this far. He’s not a goddamned hero. He’s not modest like John, or optimistic like Jade, or responsible like Rose, or levelheaded like his bro. He’s just a guy who’s spent his whole life hiding behind a pair of shades and pretending to be something he’s not. He isn’t anything. Everyone else is a hero, but not Dave. Not him.  
  
Everything continues as in **B.  
  
  
  
  
F.  
  
** Dave Strider gets relocated by Child Protective Services at the tender age of eight, after his bro planted a line of firecrackers in the microwave that ended up blowing a hole straight through the wall and into their neighboring apartment.  
  
For a year or so, Bro fights fiercely for custody to be returned to him, navigating his way through a largely apathetic legal system. While the old guy has no problem dancing circles around opponents in a sword fight, he has trouble dodging iron clad laws and strict social workers. There are court dates almost every other month, but they trickle into twice or three times a year, and then they stop entirely. Shortly after Dave turns eleven, he moves out of the boys home and in with a nice foster family somewhere in the suburbs of Washington. The woman loves to bake and insists that he calls her Mom, and the man drinks coffee and reads the Sunday paper and tells Dave he’s a fine young lad. There’s not a single smuppet in sight and it’s ( _fucking_ ) picture perfect.  
  
At school, he’s adopted by the in-crowd in a matter of days, and he becomes the center of it before the first half the school year is even over. He's gotta do his bro proud, after all. He ends up with more friends than he can count, only knows a handful of their names, and doesn’t really talk to them about anything more meaningful then his shitty web comic.  
  
He has a good thing going for a while in seventh grade, when he’s paired up as lab partners with a kid named John Egbert. The guy is pretty much a total dork, but he’s nice  _(blunt)_  and likes Dave for who he is, not  _what_  he is. He's probably the only one who does.  
  
Dave eventually tells him about how he had this really awesome bro once, and John puts his hand on Dave’s shoulder and squeezes a little. He doesn’t say anything and Dave is filled with gratitude.  
  
Over the summer, Dave spends a lot of time at John’s house. There’s nothing wrong with his own house, but John seems to be more comfortable at his place, so it’s whatever. They crank up the AC and sprawl across his bedroom floor, watch horrendously sappy movies (John cries at the end of Con Air. Every. Single. Time.) and occasionally indulge in point-and-shoot videogames. Sometimes they brave the excruciating ( _mild_ ) summer heat, tossing rocks over at the creek that runs through the small park a few blocks down. Life is all tire swings, sticky popsicle juice fingers, eyes squinted against the sun, and patterns of aversion and confession that friendships are built on.  
  
One day, when they’re not feeling up to the outside world, Dave reads over John’s shoulder as he pesters these two girls who type in moody purple and eye meltingly bright green.  
  
“Whoa, look at you,” Dave remarks, chin resting in the dip of the other boy’s neck. He smells good, spicy and clean like soap, and Dave resists the urge to breathe in deep. That wouldn’t be a coolkid thing to do. As a matter of fact, it would be kinda downright weird, like, what is he even thinking? “John Egbert, ladies’ man. Who would’ve guessed?”  
  
“Shut up,” John chuckles, nudging him in the ribs. “It’s just my friends Rose and Jade. You should talk to them, too. They’re really cool.”  
  
“I don’t talk to strangers on the internet. Shit’s dangerous man,” he replies, stone faced. He leans back to stretch, back cracking several times in quick succession.  
  
John rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever Mr. Coolkid McAwesome Pants. Want some gushers?”  
  
Dave holds out his hand and allows John to shake out a few squishy, blue hexagons into his open palm. He pops one into his mouth and bites down.  It’s bullshit how they describe it as this mindboggling blast of flavor in the commercials, when in reality the juicy goo just kind of oozes out. It’s actually pretty gross. He’s pretty sure that’s false advertising or something, and he’s in the middle of contemplating a law suit when John speaks up again.  
  
“Besides,” he starts a little tentatively, fingers flying over his keyboard. “I don’t think I like girls.”  
  
Dave nearly chokes,sputtering softly and gracelessly, but he recovers quickly.  John keeps his face fixed on the monitor, trying to appear nonchalant, but his nervousness shows in his eyes. He’s braced, waiting for Dave to say something, probably expecting him to draw away in disgust and never talk to him again.  
  
Dave swallows thickly, throat coated in gusher slime, “Yeah? That’s cool.”  
  
John throws him a brief, grateful smile, all buckteeth and squared glasses and dark blue eyes and fuck Dave might have a thing for guys ( _John_ ), too.  
  
But, as fate (okay, mostly just middle school cliques) would have it, they are really on totally different ends of the social spectrum. It isn’t long before people start talking smack and— as much as Dave pretends it doesn’t— it bothers him, gets under his skin, into his head. He starts making these painfully lame excuses not to hang out with John, stops answering his phone calls and replying to his texts and IMs. By the time eighth grade rolls around, he’s cut Egbert loose.  
  
School drags by as usual. Dave catches glimpses of John in the hallways and averts his eyes, even though they’re already shielded behind dark sunglasses. That next April, Dave gets his hands on the sburb beta and hooks up with a couple of kids he barely knows. All he can think of when the town goes up in flames, chunks of rock hurling down and crushing everything to dust and ash, is how much the heat reminds him of Texas— of  _home._  
  
This is the end of the story.  
  
{ Scratch.}  
  
  
  
  
 **G.**  
  
turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]  
  
TG: ok  
TG: its official  
TG: im exactly two minutes away from completely flipping my shit  
TT: And what sort of cataclysmic event could possibly bring about this unthinkable travesty?  
  
Dave commends his sense of foresight for alchemizing these kickass iShades, which enable him to cover his ears in an attempt to block out the constant nakanakanak without obstructing his ability to chat on pesterchum.  
  
TG: its these fucking crocodile things  
TG: theyre bugging the shit out of me  
TG: im under the constant assault of incoherent nakking  
TG: im under siege and running low on supplies the only hope is to turn the dagger on myself and end it all  
TT: I see.  
TG: do you really  
TG: i don’t think you do  
TG: i don’t think you fully understand the enormity of this really fucking serious situation  
TG: im prepared to bash my head against the nearest metal surface until i lose consciousness  
TT: This really is quite tragic.  
TT: The great and irrefutable Dave Strider, humbled in the face of the power of The Nak.  
TT: What ever shall we do without our grand Hero of Time?  
TT: All sanguine expectation is lost.  
TT: The world is cast into desolation.  
TT: The people gather in the streets and wail in lament;  
TT: O Dave the Rad  
TT: O Dave the Infallible  
TT: So pure was his swag  
TT: Now lost in a sea of red reptile tail.  
TG: ok ms dark and dismal shut your perfurmey trap  
TG: you served me my ass on a golden platter adorned with the charming doom skulls of grief and agony  
TG: congrats  
TT: I have no idea what you are referring to.  
TT: My every sentiment is sincere to the fullest extent.    
TG: your sadistic tendencies are so frequent its borderline fetishistic  
  
What he really means is _thanks for keeping me from completely flipping my shit_ and _you’re an awesome friend, Lalonde_ , but he’s never been all that good at saying what he really means.  
  
Everything continues as in **A.  
  
  
  
  
H.  
  
** Dave enters the game first. He finds himself in a smoldering land of heat and clockwork and he plays the gears like a mad cool disc jockey rips it on the turntables, jumping pulleys and riding i-beams. He slays imps like he’s been doing it his whole life, drops sick beats and rockets up his echeladder. He’s like a fucking pro, juggling so many white hot irons in the fire, flashstepping through timeline after timeline. He doesn’t really plan it out, sometimes he even forgets all about certain timelines until they’re smacking him in the face ( _literally_ ). He just sort of goes with the flow and everything falls into place. Maybe that’s the job of a Hero of Time.  
  
The first time he stumbles across his bro’s dead body in LOWAS, blade buried halfway to the hilt in his stomach, his mind just of sort of empties out and he hears this faint ringing in his ears. He feels panic rock deep in his chest, jolt out to his fingertips and down to his toes, reel in the back of his head like the world is a tilt-a-whirl. He spends a delirious two seconds convincing himself that his heart is  _not_  spontaneously going to explode right out of his ribcage in a gory mess.  
  
Then, because no one’s around to see him, he falls to his hands and knees and retches violently. He pukes until there’s nothing left, then dry heaves helplessly for a few extra moments, hands scrabbling uselessly, seeking purchase on the gravely earth. The ground is just covered in this disgusting mix of watery vomit and thick, dark crimson. Dave wants to move Bro somewhere cleaner, more respectable, but he can’t bring himself to touch him, can’t do anything but stare in horror ( _morbid fascination_ ).  
  
He doesn’t cry. Coolkids don’t cry. He stands up, wipes the spittle from the side of his mouth. Readjusts his shades because they got knocked all askew when he was spilling his guts. He turns around and walks away. By the fifth time he comes in on the same scenario, he doesn’t even blink.  
  
Death becomes a normality. He loses track of how many times John’s tendency towards blind trust gets him killed. He watches Rose get sucked into the darkness timeline after timeline. Stands by as Jade dies in an accident, dies brave and strong like a martyr, dies scared and alone, dies calling out for  _help john rose dave dave dave._ He even comes face to face with his own corpse and feels like a total asshole when that bothers him more than anything else.  
  
He starts bending over backwards, weaving an increasingly intricate web of timelines. He tries to save them. He does, he tries  _so hard,_ but it’s always the same. He has to find the way to get them all out alive— there’s got to be  _some_  way— because that’s the job of a leader. Right?  
  
So he keeps on hopping between past, present, and future. He dips in and out of parallel timelines like it’s some warped tango. The carcasses of everyone he cares about pile up and somewhere along the way he stops even noticing them.  
  
He starts to think that maybe they were never  _meant_  to live. Maybe he’s just another dead end douche in a doomed timeline. That's always been a constant fear looming over him, a horrifying _what if_ gnawing away at the back of his mind ever since he realized what it _truly_ meant to be an accessory to the Alpha Timeline. And with each passing day, it's looking more and more like it's the only viable explanation. Like this whole show is just a monumental waste of time— how ironic (and he’s all about irony) because apparently he has all the time in the fucking universe to toss away at a whim.  
  
This game messes with your head, finds out what hurts you the most and twists until you’re not even yourself anymore. This is how it's getting to him; forcing him to play through every possible horrible scenario while being totally powerless to really change anything. He’s nothing but a pawn— that’s what they all are, what they’ve always been. There is no victory.

He bends and he bends and—  _snap_ — he breaks.  
  
-  
  
Confusion flits across John's face when the blade slides between his ribs, like it’s cutting through paper instead of flesh. His smile falters and his limbs go limp like taffy. When he hits the ground it's with the softest of noises. Rose puts up a fight, but he’s so far up the echeladder and she’s hesitant to hurt him. And Jade. Jade.  
  
“I’m protecting you,” he answers when she chokes a startled ‘why’, delicately cradling her in his arms as if she were child ( _she is god she is_ ). Battered and bruised, a tear streams down her cheek. He reaches up to brush it away, smearing red across her skin. She takes a shallow, ragged breath that rattles and bubbles in her throat, another, and then her eyes hollow out and she goes still and she’s dead. Everyone is dead.  
  
This is the end of the story. **  
  
  
**{ Scratch.} **  
  
  
** **  
  
I.**  
  
gardenGnostic [GG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]  
  
GG: OH NOOOOO!!!!  
TG: well if that doesn’t read like a legit death wail i dont know what does  
TG: whats up  
GG: oh my gosh dave!  
GG: dave this is horrible!  
GG: this is the worst!!  
GG: JOHN IS DEAD!!! D:  
  
Dave swivels to avoid an imp, stumbles when he reads the last line, and nearly drops his iPhone into a pit of lava, which would have severely sucked at that particular moment.  
  
TG: holy shit  
TG: what  
TG: jade what are you talking about  
GG: no wait  
GG: i mean  
GG: DREAM john is dead!  
GG: and i guess dream me is, too :(  
GG: dave, this is just terrible  
TG: oh  
GG: ive been dreaming on prospit for as long as i can remember!  
GG: i cant see the clouds anymore, and neither can john. no one can and  
GG: ughhhhhh DX  
GG: dave, propsit is goooone!!!  
GG: what are we going to do? :’(  
TG: well my dream dude is still alive and kicking and im pretty sure roses is too  
TG: we can definitely handle this so i guess just sit back and enjoy the ride  
GG: that’s not the same  
GG: derse dreamers cant do the things prospit dreamers can  
TG: that sounds a lot like ethnocentricism  
TG: are you being ethnocentric jade  
GG: um, what? :/  
TG: i didnt know you were so dogmatic harley i really thought you were better than that  
GG: dave, what are you even saying?  
TG: im saying that youre all demeaning my dersite culture  
TG: desecrating it like a fisticuff adventurer desecrates sacred ruins  
TG: putting prospit up on a throne and parading through town while derse huddles on a corner and turns tricks to make money for bills because it just got an eviction notice from the landlord  
TG: who is you  
TG: derse has hungry mouths to feed but do you care  
GG: dave, there are so many mixed metaphores  
TG: it hurts jade it really does  
GG: you are being incredibly silly! ._.  
TG: it doesnt seem like youre freaking out anymore  
GG: yeah  
GG: i guess i have calmed down some  
GG: wow, thanks dave :)  
TG: no thanks needed  
TG: rescuing damsels in distress and shit its all in a days work  
  
-  
  
Jade refuses to go back to sleep. She says something about horrorterror nightmares, but won’t  elaborate any further than that (she gets angry when he prods). Dave almost feels like she's starting to lose herself; her boldness and courage, her optimism and kindness. The game is wearing her thin, sucking away all that animal confidence that makes her _who she is_ and leaving her tired and trembling.  
  
She pesters Dave whenever she’s feeling particularly antsy about something or doubtful in herself. He’s pretty uncomfortable having someone virtually depending on him as her sole source of emotional support (especially when his own emotional stability isn't all that sound). But he dislikes Jade being upset, and he likes that she apparently has some kind of faith in him. He does his best not to screw it up.  
  
Everything continues as in E.  
  
  
  
  
 **J.**  
  
  
Her hand slips into his as they stand at the edge of the massive vinyl record. Dave is just a little caught off guard by the gesture, but the way his heart stumbles would never show on his face.  
  
“Maybe something will be different next time,” she says, eyes bright with hope when she looks up at him. A wispy ebony lock is curled around her cheek and he reaches forward to brush it away. “Maybe we can save everyone. Maybe we can  _win_.”  
  
Her fingers tighten around his and she might just be the only thing that’s keeping him grounded. It's not fair, he thinks. It's not fair that they’ll end up back at square one. That he will (and she will, too, and maybe that’s scarier) forget the way she needed him, curled into his side and clutching at his shirt like he could hide her from it all. He wishes he could— more than anything he wishes they could.  
  
“Yeah,” he readies the needlekind and prepares to bring the whole incipisphere to a grinding halt and spin it backwards. He wonders if the only way for them to be together like this is for everything to crumble to pieces around them.  Does everyone else have to die off before she’ll come running into his arms? “Maybe we can.”  
  
“I won’t forget you,” she whispers breathlessly, as if he had been thinking out loud the entire time. She wraps her fingers around the back of his neck and stands up on her tiptoes, pulling him in until their lips connect. Nebulas explode behind his eyelids. Somehow he can’t feel the ground.  
  
When they break apart, he smiles— actually  _smiles_ — and he’s so fucking glad she can’t see his eyes tearing up behind his shades, so fucking glad he’s practiced enough at least to keep his voice from wavering. It’s kind of funny, really, because he always wanted to protect her, but she’s so fierce and strong and hardly in need of protecting. Maybe  _he_  was the one who needed  _her_  all along. “You will. But it’s cool.”  
  
This is the end of the story.  
  
  
{Scratch.}  
  
  
  
  
 **K.  
  
** gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]  
  
GC: H3Y 34RTH BOY  
  
Bifurcated universes, rifts in the space time continuum, omnipotent arch villains, godtiers, and gray skinned aliens with candy corn horns.  
  
  
{Scratch.}  
  
  
The universe resets, but, for once, _they_ don’t.  
  
So much for endings.  
  
  
  
-

**Author's Note:**

> C/D/G ==> A
> 
> I ==> E ==> B
> 
> F (isolated)
> 
> H (isolated)
> 
> J (isolated)
> 
> K (canon)


End file.
